


Orders

by Sairyn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, One Shot, Sexual Content, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sairyn/pseuds/Sairyn
Summary: John's a soldier. He knows how to follow orders. Sherlock decides to experiment on whether John will follow his.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novemberhush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberhush/gifts).



> First fic in this fandom. Woke up in the middle of the night with a few of my regular characters whispering in my ear. When I went to write down all the ideas, I discovered there was a new voice "talking" to me; telling me to he wanted to make John Watson come. Who was I to resist?
> 
> Got hooked on the show by a dear friend who writes seamless Johnlock. So this is her fault! But I love her dearly. This is for you novemberhush- for introducing me to your man Sherlock. And more importantly, for being my true North.

 

John feels like he is on fire and the only person who can quench it is staring at him with ice blue eyes. Sherlock is a walking dichotomy; brilliantly mad, and maddeningly beautiful. John had no idea that the man who has no time for things, people, sentiment, and the like; who views the world around him through the lens of a microscope, is really a caged beast. A predator wrapped in a belstaff, who keeps himself on a very short, self-imposed leash.

And right now John was prey.

“Willing, I might add,” Sherlock pops off, his deep voice infiltrating John's thoughts.

“Stop that.”

"No,” the younger man answers with a quick upturn of of his lips. “Besides, you don't want me to,” he huffs.

“You're right, I don't,” John concedes.

John’s hands are roaming, searching. Looking for and grabbing at something- anything to hold on to. Nothing could have prepared him for this, for the maelstrom of emotions that come with being Sherlock's singular focus. The man who told him he was married to his ...John’s thoughts are once again interrupted by the rumble of Sherlock's voice in his ear.

“You didn't really believe me when I told you I was married to my work, did you John? Come now, you're smarter than that.”

Sherlock grasps both of John’s hands and places them on the rail above. “Hold here. Do not move,” he purrs.

“What? Why?”

“Experiment.”

“Nngh. Do you really think this is the time… time to, to experiment,” John pants.

“John, this is the perfect time to experiment. Besides, you are perfect. Now, shall we continue?”

John feels a nip just below his ear.

“Sheerrrrlock…,” John moans.

“Hmm, sensitive there, I see. What about the other side?” Sherlock rattles off.

John is so close to saying something quite bitchy. And if it didn't feel so damn good, he would. He wants to be offended, he really does, but then one of Sherlock's hands twists instead of pulls and his brain short circuits.

“God, yes,” he hears himself mutter.

John closes his eyes to the onslaught of sensations that threaten to consume him and drive him over the edge he is so perilously close to.

“Look at me.” Sherlock's voice is thick and somehow an octave lower than usual.

His eyes fly open without conscious thought. Twist, pull, tug, thrust. John is lost in alternating rhythms and intensity wrapped in moist heat. He can feel the need starting; the need to chase, the need to finish, the need to….

“Not yet,” the baritone voice commands.

“Sherlock, I… I can't.” John’s voice is breathy, the words escaping in fits and starts.

“Of course you can. You are a soldier. You know how to follow orders. So it's safe to assume you will follow mine.”

The words go straight to John’s cock and a whimper falls from his lips as he grasps the rod even tighter, trying not to move.

“Look at me,” Sherlock growls.

Once again John lifts his eyes to meet Sherlock’s and he immediately feels caught; or maybe the correct word is captured. It doesn't matter, John knows he is utterly and completely lost.

“You are mine, John Hamish Watson. _Mine._ Say it. Or would you prefer we stop right now…”

“Stop?! Bloody hell, Sherlock.”

It's not as if it isn't true. John knew his fate was sealed the moment he stepped into 221B Baker Street. Gravity itself seemed to shift and something unknown and hidden fell into place. But now he is being asked to speak this truth, this secret he thought was safely hidden in the recesses of his mind. Of course, he should know better by now. Nothing escapes the world's only consulting detective.

“Of course I'm yours. But so help me if you…”

“Now now, Doctor, no need for idle threats.”

“Idle threat? I'll show you an idle threat,” John warns.

With a move that would make his wrestling coach proud, John flips the two of them; their nude bodies still intertwined. Seeing Sherlock's eyes grow wide and hearing the gasp that escapes from Sherlock's lips is worth the pain he will undoubtedly feel tomorrow. But at the moment, Sherlock's lean torso beneath him is intoxicating and he can't stop himself from grinding their cocks together.

“Now you listen here, you git. I. Am. Yours.”

John punctuates each word with a wicked thrust, sliding sinfully against the sinewy man below him. “Yours. Completely, as long as you will have me. I am not going to run away. I am not going to leave. I’m yours. And you're mine.”

Several emotions flit across Sherlock’s features. Shock, happiness, amusement maybe? John isn't sure. Then just as quickly, a new look takes over; something a little darker, and a lot more dangerous.

“In that case my dear Dr. Watson. I need you to do something for me.”

Sherlock's hands resume their ministrations around John’s cock. His blue eyes watching with intent; seemingly cataloging all of John's reactions, thoughts, and emotions. But all John cares about at the moment is Sherlock’s lips. Those fucking gorgeous lips that are doing _things_. Sinful things, like nibbling and sucking at John’s exposed skin, while whispering filthy words of want and debauchery. John cant think, let alone comprehend what Sherlock is saying.

“Will you do something for me, John?” Sherlock's voice is low, seductive; his engorged cock thrusting wantonly up against John.

Between the deep rumble of Sherlock's voice and the feel of being expertly manhandled, John can't stop the loud moan that falls from his lips without permission. If he thought he was close to the razor’s edge before, John is positive he is now being sliced open by the instrument known as Sherlock Holmes. From long slow strokes, to quick staccato like pulls, Sherlock is playing him like the violin he often holds close. John is drowning in sensation and he doesn't care. All that's left now is the crescendo; the final act. Because John wants to let go; wants to surrender to the devilish man, who haunts his dreams and fantasies in the wee hours of the night. He pulls the younger man closer, his fingers grasping at the brown curly locks trying to keep his orgasm at bay. He is so close, so very close. John feels a slender finger drift down past his balls and circle his hole.

“Oh! Fuck…yes, anything, whatever you want, just don't stop. Please.”

“Mmm, yes.” Sherlock groans, his thrusts increasing in intensity.  

“Come for me,” Sherlock breathes against John’s lips. “Now!” he hisses.

Order given, order received. John's body bows back, responding automatically. Every muscle goes taut and a primal scream erupts from somewhere deep inside. John falls over the precipice of pleasure, white hot spurts of come splashing between them. Sherlock continues to rut frantically against him, chasing his own release, while John trembles through aftershock after aftershock. Somewhere, through his haze, John hears a broken cry and feels nails claw at his back.

“John!” Sherlock yells, shuddering.

****

When the world stops spinning, and oxygen has once again permeated his brain cells to form rational thought, John smiles at the man beneath him.

“Experiment you say?”

Sherlock has the decency to look mildly embarrassed.

“Well, of course. I wanted to see if you could follow orders while being distracted. The mark of…”

John cuts off the rest of Sherlock's explanation with a deep kiss.

“I don't just follow anyone’s orders, Sherlock. But I will follow yours,” John whispers softly.

“Good,” Sherlock answers, leaning back in.

 

 


End file.
